


Third Time's a Charm

by Flojiro, Nat1es



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bones deserves a medal, But just for fun, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pon Farr, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, references to TOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flojiro/pseuds/Flojiro, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nat1es/pseuds/Nat1es
Summary: McCoy asked himself if he should’ve paid more attention to his psychology course when things become strained between the Captain and his First, upsetting the crew of the Enterprise.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 11
Kudos: 210





	Third Time's a Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flojiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flojiro/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Third time's a charm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9461687) by [Flojiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flojiro/pseuds/Flojiro). 



> Hello! This is my first longer length translation, and I have such a newfound respect for all translators out there. This was over a month in the making, and it could not have been anywhere near as good without Flo's dedication and involvement throughout this whole thing. Seriously, thank you for letting me translate this. Huge shoutout to my [beta](https://himynameis-groot.tumblr.com/), without you this would've been a huge badly - worded mess. Also to WordReference, I owe that site my life. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Original Notes: I didn't state it in the fic, but Spock and Uhura aren't together anymore. They definitely separated mutually after having realized that they're better as friends. (I love Uhura and I love Spock, I just think that it's an unnecessary relationship and the way that they're treated in the first two movies only hurts both of their characters)

**Stardate: 4028.5 (11/04/2266)**

Jim watched as space stretched out into oblivion on the main screen of the bridge. He uncrossed his legs. Held back a grimace. Skimmed over and signed the PADD with the day’s tasks and maintenance that yeoman Nohmu had handed him. The look on his face showed what could have been confusion - maybe worry - and Jim forced himself to smile briefly as he met the yeoman’s eyes, who lingered a bit after being returned the PADD. Jim leaned forward to study an imaginary problem on the console between Chekov and Sulu, hiding his body’s protestations at the small movement. Nohmu walked out without another word, but not before Jim caught his exchanged look with Uhura as the turbolift’s door closed quietly behind him. 

He sighed internally as he rested his back against the chair, which had never seemed so uncomfortable before. For the first time in his captaincy, he could only think about leaving this seat for the comfort of his bunk. Or, better yet, a nice hot bath, the gravity in the bathroom set to low to keep the water burning around him, letting his bruised body float.

He closed his eyes briefly when a particularly painful bruise made itself known as he shifted in his seat, trying to find the least uncomfortable position to spend the next few hours in until the end of his shift. A fleeting image flashed behind his eyelids. Two brown eyes, pupils blown from desire, a cold and burning hand gripping the tops of his thighs, warm breath against his burning skin. He abruptly opened his eyes. 

“Captain?”

Sulu looked over at him dubiously, seat half turned in his direction. Next to him, Chekov looked as if he was putting an excessive amount of effort into watching his console. Jim frowned, irritation taking over his tiredness and discomfort. 

“What is it Mr. Sulu?”

He regretted his sharp tone the moment it passed through his sore lips, the inside of his mouth covered in bruises from his own teeth. And others’. He held back from slamming his head against the back of his chair. 

“We are approaching the asteroid field, as well as the magnetic singularity that had caught our attention. You asked me to inform you when that was the case. Captain.”

Sulu turned back in his chair, saying Jim’s rank in a way that could be taken as an insult but sounded more like a reminder. Jim stopped himself from snapping at him. Gripped his hands against the armrests of his chair. His ship, his crew, his responsibility. None of them should have to deal with their captain being an idiot.

“Thank you, Hikaru.”

He stood up and ignored the pain that climbed up the muscles of his legs. Walked over to the pilot's seat, each step igniting a dull pulsation in his lower back. He placed a hand on Sulu’s shoulder, covered in the same yellow fabric as his own. A quiet apology, accepted with a small nod of the head.

“Continue straight ahead.” He clasped his hands behind his back, where the fingerprints of strong hands lingered. He continued to stand, eyes fixed on the screen showing the sight outside. He focused on the astral bodies getting closer and closer, the Enterprise’s computer rapidly blinking calculations all around them. He did not look behind him. 

**Stardate: 4009.56 (11/01/2266)**

“Spock asked for leave…”

Bones’ eyebrows shot up in an exaggerated expression of disbelief. 

“Spock? The Spock? The one who’s so glued to his post that he’ll end up growing a shell around it and never moving again? That Spock?”

Jim savored his whiskey and asked himself when Chekov will finally figure out who’s stealing from his locker. Or if he already knew and was purposefully stocking it with a different whiskey every time, always well-aged, always perfect.

“Do you know of any others?”

“Oh heavens, no! There’s already one bowl-cutted stuck-up on this ship! Even that’s too much!” 

Bones set his glass down before his wild gestures could send its contents all over the small room. Jim shrugged one shoulder and hid his face behind another sip from his glass. 

“In that case you should be happy that he wants to leave for a while…”

The doctor’s sharp gaze faded away as he thought about it. Jim finished his glass in one last gulp before frowning at him. 

“What?” Jim asked.

“You’re worried.”

“I’m not the one who just about had a stroke when he heard about it!” Jim traced his finger around the rim of his glass, drawing its contours to avoid meeting Bones’ piercing gaze. 

“Jim.” The gruff tone was that of a doctor facing a patient who refused to believe that he was sick. Maybe even terminally ill. But Bones always exaggerated everything. “Jim…” 

Jim sighed heavily and held his hand out to the other bottle, an Earth whiskey. A luxury that he felt guilty for taking from the young navigator, but he knew that Bones would replace it with excellent vodka. Chekov surely understood. 

“He’s been acting weird lately…” He held up the hand that wasn’t uncorking the whiskey, stopping Bones from answering. “Yeah, more than usual! More than ‘I am a half Vulcan who has lost a part of his identity as well as his mother and his planet, and who constantly avoids revealing important information during missions’ weird!” 

He angrily served himself as Bones whistled between his teeth. 

“Woah there. That sure did sound like worry.” The doctor almost looked affectionate for a brief moment. However, it was replaced with a grimace in the blink of an eye. 

“Shut up.” The whiskey had pleasantly warmed the back of his throat, removing the bite that he normally put in his words. “He’s an excellent First and I’ve spent years working with him. I’m not about to lose him without knowing why…” 

“Relax a bit, ok?” Bones shook his head. “You’re gonna grow an ulcer if you keep at it. Not to mention, Spock would take command until you got better, and that thought worries me more than all the requests for leave in the world!”

Jim raised his eyes to the soft lighting of the ceiling. 

“You love Spock and you’re just as worried as I am.” 

“If you start insulting me, then you won’t be in Sickbay because of an ulcer…” Bones sighed dramatically before finishing his glass. “If it’s the only way to keep the captain at optimal productivity, I’ll reschedule the yearly checkup of your favorite Vulcan. And I’ll ask Chapel to worm out the reasons for his mysterious desire to escape. She’s better at it than me.”

“She’s the one who has a heart.”

“Flattery won’t get you any further than insults you know.”

**Stardate : 4028.5 (11/04/2266)**

Spock adjusted a variable in a calculation that he already knew was perfect and studied the screen’s compilations of data that were calculating on their own, more productive than he was. In his present situation, he had only a minor interest in staying at his post. On the bridge, yes. An asteroid field wasn’t exactly dangerous for a ship like the Enterprise, but they were in unknown territory. They had learned to stay on constant alert, taking little for granted. Not counting solely on what they knew, for that familiarity could be deceptive. 

An asteroid could be concealing a mollusk evolving in space much like they do in the oceans of Earth. A small group of celestial bodies could really be a herd. Perhaps the pieces of an ancient planet, composed of elements so different from what was known to the Federation that a small collision could tear open their hull or send them to a past that none of them had ever known. They could be entangled in the mesh of a net thrown into space by creatures of thought, capturing humanoids and making them engage in combat against each other. 

An asteroid brushed against the ship’s shield, bringing Spock out of his reverie. Behind him, Chekov swore in Russian. 

“Language, Mr. Chekov.”

Jim’s voice was a subtle mix of reprimand and affectionate teasing. All of it imbued with the particular tone that was Captain Kirk on his bridge. Entirely different and yet so alike the Jim outside of service. To the way that his voice was both demanding and pleading…

“Sorry Captain!”

Spock shivered. Internally. He thanked his childhood on Vulcan for having taught him to hide the slightest of his emotions. The part of him that was too human. However, he wasn’t able to stop himself from turning around in his chair. Jim had put a hand on the shoulder of the young navigator. He was too young, perhaps, like Jim, like all of them, like their ship braving the unknown with a spirit that mirrored that of their captain. 

His body was upright, shoulders drawn back, feet planted firmly on the ground, legs slightly spread apart to absorb the rapid movements of the ship, the inertial shock absorbers reduced in order to have better maneuverability. 

An unusual heat arose in the pit of his stomach. He sensed Jim’s stiffness, saw the way that he shifted his position imperceptibly in intervals too frequent to be able to ease the pain that Spock knew was there. To the places where his fingers, his lips, his teeth, had lingered. 

He turned abruptly in his seat, drawing a raised eyebrow from Nyota which he purposefully ignored. 

These feelings should not exist. His memories should not awaken what he knew to be an undeniable sexual attraction towards his captain. Thoughts like these should not linger. They should not, and yet they stretched out in eternity in his eidetic memory. He held back the impulse to tear up the nearest console. 

**Stardate: 4025.19 (11/03/2266)**

“The porn what?!”

“ _Pon_ ! The Pon Farr!” Across from him, Bones pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly. “Only you would hear… but what else could I possibly hope for?” He shook his head without letting Jim react. “So, the _Pon_ Farr,” the doctor repeated, putting extra emphasis on the absence of the ‘r’ in the first word. “It’s a sort of a ritual. Or a rite of passage. I’m not entirely sure…” 

“You’re confusing me, Bones,” Jim said, sitting on the edge of his bunk and leaning forward a bit as his friend paced the small space of his cabin. 

“Will you let me finish? I had to read everything in Vulcan, and, if you don’t remember from the Academy, it’s worse than trying to talk to one of them!” He stopped pacing to glare at Jim, the pretense of anger trying to mask his very real worry. “It’s something leftover from ancient Vulcan culture. The ‘males’,” he quoted with his fingers, “reach a stage in life where they have to succumb to the urge to reproduce. At all costs. My translation of it was pretty rough and I didn’t want to use the computer in case Spock checked the network, but…” 

He started pacing the room again and Jim had to stop himself from jumping up and shaking some sense into him. He wasn’t going to get anything out of a panicked Bones. He waited. Patiently. He was very proud of himself. Just until Bones’ circling around the room had reached beyond the limits of reason. 

“Ok. So you’re telling me that Vulcans go through a mating cycle or something. Aside from the fact that I wasn’t all that far off by calling it ‘porn’ and that it’ll give you a real arsenal of ways to get under the skin of your favorite Vulcan for the next few years, I don’t see why you need to try to dig a hole in my room about it during my sleep shift.” 

He knew that something wasn’t right. Waited for the bad news and hassled Bones so that he would spit it out - needing to get it over with. But he wasn’t prepared when his friend stopped pacing again, his hands laced behind his back, the words that passed through his lips too much for him. 

“Jim. If Spock doesn’t mate, he might die.”

**Stardate: 4028.5 (11/04/2266)**

The asteroid field drifted and expanded through space. Vast, empty, free of any threat to the ship and its passengers. No giant green hand had grabbed hold of them, no vaporous cloud had been lying in wait behind a rock being carried through the void, and, as far as Jim could tell, no unidentifiable life form had infiltrated their ventilation system in any areas of the ship. He turned back to his chair after thanking the crew on the bridge. 

He rested his hand on the back of the chair without sitting down. He always liked to stay on the bridge after a maneuver of this sort. Simply savoring the calm of space and the reassuring and familiar sounds of men and women manning their posts. Even if his presence wasn’t required, he felt more in his place than any other. Today… 

He raised his eyes unintentionally. Spock wasn’t looking at him. His back was turned, full attention on his console. Jim knew that he didn’t have the slightest reason to be so occupied with it. If any irregularity had piqued the Vulcan’s curiosity in the asteroid field then he would’ve expressed it immediately. In other circumstances, Jim would’ve asked him if something wasn’t right. Might’ve even approached him to place a hand on his shoulder, maybe even lean over to see what he was contemplating with such rapt attention. At the time being, however, he settled for passing by his post and walking up the few steps up to the turbolift. 

“Captain?”

Uhura’s tone left no doubt about the nature of her question. He held her gaze with as much firmness as she put into hers. At least, he hoped he was. 

“I’m in need of a coffee right about now, and Scotty wanted me to sort out some stuff concerning Keenser and Kevin. Wouldn’t want a little domestic quarrel to put the Enterprise in any danger, now would we…” He shrugged when the door opened in front of him. “I’ll be in Engineering via the mess if anyone needs me.” 

“Very well, Captain.”

She wasn’t fooled, and he saw her turn her head towards Spock before the lift started its descent into the depths of his ship. He grimaced as he rested his forehead against the cool metal of the wall. He had ruined it. His stupid proposal had ruined one of the most important relationships he’s ever had. All because he’d been scared. He’d acted on impulse. Let his so-called instinct speak louder than his brain. How many times had Pike warned him about this? How many times had he been told that he was a real genius when he didn’t let the impulsiveness of his age and his ego get in the way? At least a thousand times, and it would never be enough. The voice of the old man followed him through the walkways of the ship that he knew more intimately than himself. 

**Stardate : 4025.19 (11/03/2266)**

Spock pushed the captain violently against the door of his cabin. One of the Vulcan decorations unhooked itself and fell to the ground without either of them noticing. He searched Jim’s neck, the place where his scent was the strongest, the most present. It made him wild, ignited something deep within him, an ancestral rage that his human blood couldn’t temper. He would’ve laughed if he wasn’t busy sinking his teeth into the thin skin, shiny with sweat. Laughed at the idea that he had counted on his human side for any help, a heritage that he had always denied. 

The Vulcan in him let out a rough, almost animalistic growl as the human arched against the strength of his body. Not to escape, no. To move closer. He felt his captain’s hands dig into his shoulder blades, his muscles taught in an effort to hold their bodies together. Spock’s fingers gripped the roots of his hair and bent his neck back to give his lips better access to Jim’s neck. His teeth pierced through the fragile epidermis, the metallic taste of metal mixing with the salt of his sweat. Jim let out a guttural whine at the feel of the blood.

Jim thrust his hips, rubbing his erection against Spock’s thigh.

He groaned again. He tore the uniform apart, exposing his captain’s torso, his chest rising and falling in time with his erratic breathing. 

“Spock…” 

Jim’s voice was hoarse, urgent, begging. His fingers tugged on the short strands of his hair, a mix of pain and pleasure that ran through his spine like a rope of fire. The human was sweating heavily from the elevated temperature of the cabin, and his scent was stronger because of it, more intoxicating. 

Spock bit into Jim’s neck again, burning under his tongue, against his body, through the fabric of his uniform. He groaned with desire and frustration. He quickly got rid of the scraps of clothing still hanging on to the captain’s shoulders. Scratched and marked, leaving long red trails in the wake of his hands. 

Jim panted between two desperate whimpers, destroying what was left of Spock’s self-control. 

He slipped his hands under the belt of the uniform’s pants, over the black under-clothes, and gripped Jim’s ass with a force that would leave deep purple bruises in the days after his frenzy had ended. The idea made him grip his fingers harder against the delicate skin and tense muscles. Jim answered with a cry of pain and delight indistinguishable from one another. Pushed against his fingers, as if he too wanted to make sure that their marks would stay. 

Spock lifted him abruptly off the ground, pressing him against the wall. Jim whimpered again, a garbled sound, somewhere between surprise and arousal. Jim’s muscles moved under Spock’s fingers, and his thighs gripped his waist. 

“Spock!”

Jim’s erection pressed against his stomach, next to where his heart was beating. His own member was straining against the fabric of his pants, inflated and aching. His fingers slid between Jim’s ass while his other hand traced his body, slipping between them, against his burning stomach, under the belt of his pants which would soon fall to the same fate as the abandoned shirt.

Mine. Mine. Mine. 

His mouth roamed the outstretched and pulsing neck. He took in the smallest whine, tasted each bead of sweat, each drop of blood. 

_Mine._

**Stardate: 4028.5 (11/04/2266)**

Spock resided at his post. Held Nyota’s inquisitive gaze, which he couldn’t avoid as easily as Jim’s. He was lying to himself. He had no reason to avoid Nyota’s eyes as he had not failed her the way he had his captain.

“Spock.”

He waited for the rest. The question or the reprimand, the lesson on human conduct. All things that he was ready to refute within the limits of what he was willing to reveal. Nothing that had happened had directly hindered the running of the ship or its chain of command. Not as long as Jim decided it didn’t. The situation directly broke at least five regulations and a dozen in tangent, but he could not abandon his post in the middle of their mission. Not unless Jim ordered him to. 

Nyota turned to her console. No questions. No lessons. Instead, the heavy silence of guilt that weighed down on Spock alone. 

He had failed, and the worst punishment would be to accept the consequences by maintaining his position as the first officer. He would wait until the next Starbase to leave. He could assist Jim and the crew for the time being. Live with what he had done. With what his captain had accepted from him. For him. Knowing that it hadn’t been enough. 

He had given in to his instincts, hurt Jim in more ways than one, had broken his mind and his body. 

And it still hadn’t worked. His captain’s sacrifice had been in vain. What he had given him hadn’t been enough. 

**Stardate: 4025.19 (11/03/2266)**

Spock’s cock sank into him, cold and throbbing. Both familiar and different, like Spock himself. The powerful body dominated his own, pinning him to the mattress. His hand pushed against the space between his shoulder blades, keeping his chest firmly pressed against the sheets. The thick fabric rubbed against his cheek, bunched up under his fists, under his trembling knees. Spock’s other hand was on his hips, raising them. He felt the hand touch the base of his aching cock at each violent thrust. 

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

His entire body was overwhelmed with pain, pleasure, desire. Again and again and again. _Spock!_ Again! 

His chest released a cry akin to the sound of waves crashing against the cliffs of a primal planet, the roar of a huge feline who could never be confined, the indelible traces of a spirit that once carried the weight of an entire culture. 

Mine! Mine!

And his mind - human, fragile, imperfect - shouted back in return, hungrily agreeing with his body.

Yes! Yes! Yours! Always! Forever!

**Stardate: 4067.28 (11/09/2266)**

“Doctor McCoy?”

McCoy didn’t hide the sigh that escaped him at the appearance of Spock in the doorway of Sickbay. On the contrary, he made a point to add it. A doctor’s job wasn’t to be nice and polite, even less so a doctor on a spaceship who hated space. And Vulcans. Especially this particular Vulcan.

“Spock. It’s always a pleasure.”

His sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed by the pointy-eared officer - even he was learning - if he could count on the raised eyebrow that reached the fringe of his God-awful bowl cut. 

“Judging by your usual remarks and the expression on your face, I believe that you are employing what Terrans commonly call irony. May I remind you that I am here on your summoning?” The piercing gaze scanned the room quickly, taking in the empty beds and the absence of any other personnel. “Despite the fact that my last medical visit was only seven-point three-four days ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how to count.” McCoy gestured to one of the beds in exasperation as he leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms against his chest. 

Spock’s other eyebrow joined the first, but he seemed to get the message and moved forward. The door slid shut behind him. He didn’t sit on the bed. McCoy would’ve been thoroughly surprised if he had. Under his polished demeanor, the half-Vulcan had a stronger rebellious flair than Jim. It was more rooted in his nature but less obvious, like the shell of a particularly shy crustacean. 

He watched him clasp his hands behind his back and plant his feet. McCoy asked himself if Spock realized that every part of his stance signaled that he was preparing for a fight. Even his relaxed posture was typically seen as belligerent. Sometimes he hated Vulcan culture for what they did to a child who was just a bit different from themselves. No. He hated Vulcan culture, period. If it wasn’t so secretive and defensive then he would never be in this situation, trying to have an outlandish conversation with someone that he knew would deny everything. 

“Seeing as we both know the reasons as to why I am not here, would you care to enlighten me on the reason that I am? Or we could proceed by process of elimination during the rest of the shift?” 

McCoy lifted his eyes to the ceiling. 

“That’s exactly it!”

“To play at a guessing game? I have more pressing matters to attend to…” 

“Because you get so riled up at the slightest provocation, which, might I add, are just your coworkers trying to be helpful! I know that you’ve always been sensitive bordering on egomania, but these last few days no one can talk to you without you responding by baring your fangs!” He raised one hand before the intimidating Vulcan could make any objections on how he wasn’t being ‘logical’. “I know that you don’t have fangs and that Vulcans are vegetarian. It’s a figure of speech.” He decided to get to the point. It was pointless to go in circles like this when the Vulcan took everything literally. Or took you for an idiot by making you think that… “I just wanted to say that you and Jim have been insufferable to the rest of us for the last five days - even more than usual where you’re concerned - and that it’s definitely not a coincidence.” 

Spock had visibly tensed up at the mention of Jim. He squared his shoulders, stretching the fabric of his uniform. 

“I suggest that you speak with the captain directly. If he finds fault in my attitude then I will answer to him and him only”

McCoy held back the urge to get out the bottle of whiskey that he’d been hiding in his office. For the thousandth time, he asked himself why he had accepted this post. 

“I already talked to Jim, who do you think I am? Do you really think that butting heads with the most stubborn Vulcan in creation is my first choice when something isn’t working on this ship?” He shook his head, raising his arms in exasperation. “According to him, everything is just fine!” He put a hand near his face, miming Jim. “No problem Bones. I don’t know what you’re talking about Bones. No, I’m not any more moody than usual, Bones. Stop worrying Bones. And take that thing away from my face before you get socked in the jaw.” He dropped his hands with an annoyed sigh. “You see what I mean?”

The Vulcan nodded his head in reluctance. He knew their captain as well as McCoy did. Better, even, in some ways. He admitted it to himself without feeling any resentment, but he would be damned if Spock ever found out. 

“Jim.” He repeated, trying to get the Vulcan to understand. “And no, I’m not worrying over nothing. I know something is up.” Spock observed his accusing finger with a closed expression, and McCoy sighed loudly before continuing. “His mood jumps as much as a goddamn yoyo and anyone within ten light-years can sense his stress.”

Spock’s posture shifted subtly. It pained him to realize that he knew the Vulcan well enough to recognize it. 

“I do not see how I can be of any help…” 

“Nonsense! You have everything to do with it, if only because you’re acting the exact same way!” He cut him off when he opened his mouth. “Don’t give me your ‘logic’ right now, because I’m not in the mood for it. And I know that you aren’t reacting the exact same way as him, but both of you have a serious problem! With each other, obviously.” He raised his hand again in an almost violent fashion. “Nuh-uh. No. I don’t want to hear any of it. Ever since we started this godforsaken five-year mission you two have been practically glued to each other, I’ve never seen anyone with such blatant disregard for personal space as the two of you together! And all of a sudden you’re barely able to even look at each other, what’s more, we need to have the safety of the Enterprise in jeopardy! And, by chance, it coincides with your vitals, which are returning back to their normal state, which we both know shouldn’t be the case…”

Spock tensed, visibly this time. He saw his muscles flex under his uniform. Ready for a fight. Verbal or not. 

“Doctor…” 

The threat was thinly veiled under the monotone voice of the Vulcan, but if McCoy was as cautious as he liked to pretend to be, he would never have accepted a post on this damned ship. 

“The symptoms of Pon Farr don’t just disappear if you try to will them away. Even for someone as hard-headed as you.”

Sometimes, Spock reminded him of a predator. A huge carnivorous feline just barely contained under a cold, bland, and polite facade. And thankfully vegetarian too. He could easily imagine his more savage ancestors when he saw anger burn deep in Spock’s eyes, saw the fluid movements of his overpowering muscles. Sometimes he looked at him and was captivated. A bit scared, too, if he was honest with himself. Especially when that fire directed it’s full fury at him. 

“How do you know of Pon Farr?”

He shrugged his shoulders and wondered how long it might take him to throw himself at the closet on the wall and grab a tranquilizer. It would probably be too long to beat Spock’s reflexes. 

“I know how to read just as well as I know how to count. In Vulcan as well, might I add.”

He watched with a certain fascination as Spock’s nostrils flared from a sudden inhalation.

“This type of information is not in any of the books they made you read at the Academy, doctor. It is one of the most secretive of Vulcan customs. It is to be handled privately.” He took a step forward and McCoy didn’t know if Spock was aware that he had done it. “And you know this perfectly well.”

The doctor stood up to his full height, rising from the edge of his desk. He mirrored the Vulcan’s position, keeping his arms crossed firmly over his chest. Spock was starting to annoy him more than he was scaring him. 

“I’m a doctor, goddamn it! My job is to make sure that by the time this mission is over, you’re still in a relatively healthy state. And that includes all of the non-humans in the crew, Vulcans too!” He furrowed his eyebrows and took a deliberate step forward. “If I have to go through clandestine documents written in an outdated and insufferable language because a member of the crew is too stupid and narrow-minded to tell me why he’s dying, then I’ll do it! Because it’s my job, and that comes before any of the greatest cultural secrets in the galaxy! Just as it’s my job to tell my captain about it!”

Spock’s eyes widened a bit and for a brief moment, McCoy felt proud of himself. It wasn’t every day that you got that kind of reaction. Jim was going to be jealous if he survived long enough to tell him about it. 

What the first officer definitely considered to be a demonstration of weakness lasted barely a handful of seconds. It seemed that all good things always ended too quickly. 

“You had no right…” Spock’s eyes looked as if they were trying to burn a hole through his skull. He almost managed to. His hands clenched and unclenched in an almost sporadic way as his arms remained glued to his sides. McCoy asked himself for the second time why he didn’t think to have a tranquilizing hypo with him and squared his shoulders in response to the Vulcan’s anger. “That choice was mine! I had decided to wait until we had gotten to a starbase to ask for a few days of leave, I would have been able to get to New Vulcan on time!”

This close up McCoy could see the turmoil hidden under Spock’s anger, almost desperate to get out. He frowned. Sensed that it was fear and helplessness. The Vulcan suddenly looked vulnerable and extremely young. He sighed and uncrossed his arms to run a hand over his face. He really needed a drink. 

“Spock.” He softened his voice as much as he could. Christine would’ve been proud. “I don’t have enough knowledge on Vulcan metabolism to know if you’re right. But if I had to do it over again, I would’ve done it the exact same way. I wouldn’t abandon you on the first rock disguised as a starbase in the state that you were in.” He backed up to lean against his desk again. “But what happens between you and Jim affects the whole ship. And I’m partially responsible for it. For crying out loud, don’t be as stupid as him, let me help.”

Gravity seemed to weigh down more heavily on them in the few seconds that they stared at each other. Spock’s fists loosened slowly. His stance eased up until the only defensive part of him left was his unnaturally straight posture, which he always kept. 

“You have no reason to blame yourself, doctor.” Spock raised an eyebrow at the shocked expression he received. “Aside from a violation of the rights of Vulcans, which I will report as soon as I know exactly which publications you pirated…” 

“Thank God, I was starting to think you were taking a liking to me.”

The Vulcan shot him a blank look before picking back up. 

“From this moment on, you have no reason to blame yourself.” McCoy stopped himself before he could ask Spock if it hurt him to say it. “All of this is entirely of my own fault.” And then they were there again, the helplessness and fear. 

“What happened, Spock?” He had a good enough idea, but at least one of them had to admit to it if they wanted to get anywhere. He would’ve never counted on Spock to do it but Jim’s emotional constipation sometimes surpassed even his own predictions. 

The Vulcan shook his head. 

“Nothing that your medical instruments could fix, Doctor.” His eyes scanned the room as if he was looking for proof of his theory. “And yet, his efforts to help were in vain.” 

McCoy furrowed his brow.

“What are you talking about? Ok, so I said that you looked like you wanted to kill everyone, but this is nothing compared to your last visit. You aren’t even breaking out into a panic attack at the sight of medical equipment anymore. I would call that progress.” 

“The Pon Farr has not ended!” Anger reappeared on his face, and McCoy had the distinct impression that Spock was holding back from breaking the nearest medical screen. 

“Let’s pretend that I’m the worst doctor in the galaxy and that I missed the signs that one of my patients is working himself up over nothing… Continue.”

He could almost hear Spock’s teeth grinding against each other as he squared his jaw. 

“I still have…” He stopped as if he was figuring out the right words to use, which never happened to Spock. McCoy’s eyes widened as he noticed the light dusting of green rising on his cheeks. “My sexual urges have not ceased.”

He tried to stop himself. Really. Never had he needed a drink more. And maybe a new posting. 

**Stardate: 4080.5 (11/11/2266)**

Spock had left the medical wing shortly after Doctor McCoy had answered his confession with a burst of laughter as hurtful as it was unexpected - in which he had sensed a slight amount of nervousness as well, but he could never be certain with human emotions and the ways that they were expressed. His confession did not have the slightest comical aspect to it, on the contrary, it posed a serious danger, but the doctor’s glee had only worsened when he had remarked on this. He had preferred to leave before his more violent urges manifested in a physical form. Pon Farr or not, they had always seemed to awaken in the presence of that human. 

“Spock!”

He had turned to McCoy right as the door was about to close. He seemed to have regained some control over himself. Enough to speak at least, despite the grin that he was fighting off.

“Ask yourself if there aren’t any reasons other than an obscure ritual that could be the cause of your crush on Jim.”

Those words had taken over his mind. He had been unable to rid himself of them, despite hours of meditation. They danced around in the background of each of his thoughts, affected his every decision, wherever he was, whatever he was doing, no matter the situation. 

_You want Jim._

Sat in front of the reassuring familiarity of his station, the soft hum of the crew working behind him. 

_You want Jim._

On his bed, surrounded by the few keepsakes he had from his destroyed planet. 

_You want Jim._

On the transporter’s platform, knees bent, ready to react to whatever situation he would materialize into. 

_You want Jim._

Eyes fixed on his tricorder’s readings, surrounded by the exuberant fauna of the newly explored planet. 

_You want Jim._

It was McCoy’s voice. Sometimes it was his own, the voice that guided all of his thoughts, each of reasoning. They took turns: scathing and ironic, clinical and controlled. The same statement in both cases. 

_You want Jim._

A proven fact. Evidence that was impossible to refute. It was a nagging litany with no end. He was almost ready to believe that a spell had been cast upon him. He could easily conceive of a certain doctor on board who was capable of it. 

_You want Jim._

It was still there when the trap was set off. When their first man fell, in a brief cry of agony, the color of his blood indiscernible from his uniform before the pool spread slowly out from underneath him. 

“Martinez!”

Jim’s exclamation. The discreet sound of phasers before another member of their away team collapsed. Mike Donovan, twenty-three years old, onboard since Kahn. The muscles strained in his uniform as he guided his captain to safety. And, always, those words, that idea, contrasting with each of his actions. 

_You want Jim._

A wave of shock ran through his body. Jim collapsed in front of him. Fury and fear tried to fight off the paralysis that was slowly climbing up through him. 

“Jim!”

The darkness was closing in, obscuring his peripheral to focus on a single being. On the body that was too still, eyelids closed on the blue irises that always seemed to burn through him. 

His hand reached out slowly, in painful spasms, trying to draw closer to the most important person of his life. 

_Jim._

***

The first thing he felt was the cold. A draft blew unpleasantly across his bare chest and his back was pressed against a solid and freezing wall. The pain registered immediately after, traveling through his arms and shoulders, bringing him to total consciousness with a stifled groan. 

“Jim?”

He raised his head despite the stiffness in his neck, meeting the warm brown eyes that he had learned to read so well. In this case, he was pretty sure that anyone would’ve been able to see the worry in them. Relief as well, as soon as he managed to convince his lips to draw up in a half-smile. His voice was rough when he spoke. 

“Hey stranger, fancy seeing you here…” 

The wave of worry that washed over his face took Jim by surprise. It gave him a strange sensation of dizziness. He shook his head, both to clear his mind and to reassure his anxious first officer. 

“I’m kidding, Spock. It’s…” _A pick up line older than warp._

He shut his mouth with such abruptness that he felt it in his spine, which was already in enough pain as it was. It would’ve easily knocked his hands back if they weren’t chained above his head. Well, that explained the pain. He shakily brought his feet under him to hold himself up and hissed when the pressure freed his upper back, sending an electric shock through his spinal cord. 

“Captain? Jim?”

The sound of metal clashing against rock kept him conscious. His eyesight sharpened when he noticed Spock struggling. The muscles in his arms and chest were strained, his entire body bracing against the thick holds that nailed him to the wall. He was bare to the waist. Sharp and powerful and burning with rage. The hazy darkness accentuated his curves and angles, drawing captivating shadows across his pale skin. 

A rush of endorphins took over Jim’s brain at the sight of it. 

Spock’s wrists and ankles were held solidly against the wall by large metal shackles, legs spread apart and arms outstretched in a V. The Vulcan fought against them again, arching violently. 

Jim swallowed the bit of saliva that he had managed to produce and thanked the fact that he was still too groggy to get hard. 

_Get your head out of your pants for once, you pervert!_

He hated it when his conscience took on Bones’ voice. It had a bit too much of a tendency to be right, and it’s colorful vocabulary definitely got on his nerves. 

“I’m OK, Spock.” He held back a grunt of pain as he tried to get ahold of the chain that suspended his hands above him, numb from lack of circulation. He leaned his head back against the rough stone and let out a yelp when the movement ignited a sudden pain in the back of his neck. He looked up at the metallic ring that was sealed to the wall and the heavy links of chain that hung down to where they closed around his wrists. He loosely shook his arms before looking back to the Vulcan. “I think our jailers are more worried about you than me. I’ve got to admit that it does offend me just a bit…” 

His voice sounded far away to his own ears, drawling a bit, as if he’d gotten so drunk that Bones would have to carry him home. Spock stopped fighting against his shackles and Jim tried to dispel the part of him that was disappointed. 

“With all due respect, Captain, you do not seem well.”

Jim let out a surprised huff of air. 

“Since when have you shown me any respect, Spock?” _A cold hand pressed against his ass as powerful fingers tore through his clothes. Greedy lips and teeth marked up his neck. One word embedding itself into him. Mine._

Jim groaned and held back from hitting his head against the stone to clear his train of thought. Focus on what’s important. They’re prisoners, at the mercy of their unknown jailers. He had to think, find a plan that didn’t include any type of sex with Spock, and no, he couldn’t think about the possibility of Spock taking him as he clung to the chain, helpless against the Vulcan’s actions. 

He groaned again, this time giving in to the urge to hit his head against the rough wall. 

“What did they do?” He asked. 

Spock was making a visible effort to hide the worry and anger fighting behind his calm demeanor. 

“A shock wave. Not a phaser or a sonic wave.” He furrowed his brow, and it took all of Jim’s self-restraint not to throw his head back again as he imagined putting his lips between them to soften the Vulcan’s expression. “I do not know what weapon was used, nor how they could have procured it. 

“I vote for an aphrodisiac ray.” Jim murmured before he could stop himself. 

Spock lifted his eyebrows and Jim had never been so happy to be in the hands of the enemy when the door to their cell slid open suddenly to reveal a humanoid wearing clothes that resembled a clerical outfit from Earth’s medieval age. 

_Maybe it wasn’t an aphroray._ The thought was accompanied by an internal laugh that bordered hysteria. _Get ahold of yourself, idiot! It really, really isn’t the time for this!_

***

Spock reluctantly pulled his eyes away from Jim. The weapon had affected Jim’s human body more severely than it had his own. He surmised this from the thin circle of blue that encircled Jim’s overly dilated pupils. From the way that he spoke too quickly, saying things before he could think them through. How his legs barely held him up despite the effort that he had made to stand when the door first opened. He saw how Jim clumsily tried to hold on to the metal chain to give himself some support. Spock’s anger at the sight easily extinguished any part of their situation that might have previously been erotic. 

The voice had become quieter, buried at the back of his consciousness behind much more urgent matters. 

_You want Jim._

_Jim is hurt._

_Jim is imprisoned._

_Jim didn’t notice the noises provoked by your movements against the shackles._

_Jim is one of the most observant and intelligent humans you know._

_Jim is unwell._

_Because of them._

The door had just barely closed behind their jailers before Spock tried one last time to free himself. He pushed his back against the stone and his ankles against the shackles that trapped them. The cement gave way around the metal with a particularly satisfying crunch. His feet had barely touched the floor before he pulled his wrists free from their shackles as well. 

Approximately fifteen point five three seconds after his entry into the humanoid’s quarters, they were all lying on the floor, weapons fallen from their limp hands, one single shot having been fired into the wall. 

The Vulcan loosened his hand and the last enemy fell at his feet, unmoving. 

“Are they dead?”

Jim looked at him with bright eyes despite the still over-dilated pupils. A smile played across his lips and he had managed to stand up and get a better grip on the chain that kept him imprisoned. Action and combat always had a fascinating effect on his captain. Spock slowly shook his head. 

“Vulcans do not kill, Captain. You know it as well as I do.”

Jim’s smile widened. 

“Well, it makes for a much less exciting story…” 

Spock raised an eyebrow as he bent down to retrieve the weapons that had been abandoned on the ground. 

“Indeed. Although I do not see the purpose of relaying violent accounts of events.”

“To frighten your enemies, Spock!”

He first watched as Jim’s muscles strained uselessly against his constraints. He then shifted his gaze to the large holes in the wall, the metal shackles that once resided there lying twisted on the rubble of the dusty ground. 

“It works to my advantage if my enemies assume that I am weaker than I truly am, Captain.”

Jim’s gaze followed his own. His pupils widened even more, to Spock’s surprise. His captain knew about Vulcan’s physical strength, why should he react in such a way? He had even experienced it first hand. Spock furrowed his brow. 

“That’s an excellent point, Spock.” Jim pulled at his chain again in an almost casual way, the goal seeming more to be to strike it against the stone than to actually break it. “Now, if you could just put that strength of yours to use…” 

His eyes burned into his own, this impossible blue that he had never seen in any other living creature, the deep wells captivating him. 

_Spock! Again! Yes!_

Jim pressed his back against the wall, legs parted, his position making him raise his hips lightly while his hands closed lazily around the rough metal of the chain, arms bent away from his head. And his smile. His smile dared him to move closer. 

_You want him. You want Jim._

The chain moved again, impatient. 

“Spock? You do know that people have died like this…”

His hands closed around the shackles that encircled Jim’s wrists before he realized that he had crossed the small distance between them. His captain’s body was taught, inches from his own. 

“That seems counter-productive, Spock” Jim shook his wrists in the metal cuffs, his tone light despite the sudden hoarseness of his voice.

“Captain…” 

His hands tightened as he moved his face closer. He heard Jim’s breath catch in his throat, felt the beating of his pulse where their skin touched. 

“Spock?” His smile had frozen, mouth open in a question. The black of his pupils had almost entirely consumed the gaze that was locked in his.

“Cease speaking.” He sealed their lips together. It was a kiss that didn’t deserve the name. Brutal and urgent. 

_Mine._

His entire body had melded to Jim’s, who was arching into it, the simple action exciting him as well. His erection, impossible to miss, pressed urgently against his thigh. He kissed him again, the way that Nyota had taught him. As if he had been starved from them. He explored Jim’s mouth without an ounce of hesitation and Jim’s tongue immediately responded, impatient, greedy. He swallowed the whimpers that escaped from his captain’s throat, pressing his cock against Jim’s at each one. 

His hands released their grasp to slide along the chain and place them on Jim’s, who immediately opened his to welcome them. Palm to palm, their fingers laced against the rough stone. Their minds linked, their desires building in each other, heightening them. 

_Mine!_

He released his lips from Jim’s, who bared his neck to give Spock access to it. He kissed the burning skin. He knew, objectively, that the difference in temperature of their physiologies wasn’t extremely significant, but Jim’s bare torso enflamed the slightest particle of skin at its contact. His whimpers filled the room, echoed against the walls, suddenly reminding Spock of the smallness of the space. It’s purpose. 

His mouth lingered in the hollow of an outstretched shoulder as his hands painfully separated themselves from Jim’s. The whine of protest that resulted in the action caused a shock of pleasure to run down Spock’s spine, making him call upon every ounce of control he had to not arch forward. His lips released the tender skin from which he had unintentionally left a deep bruise. He moved away from Jim, putting a breath of distance between them which seemed like the world to their trembling bodies. 

“No!”

Jim’s hands rushed forward to grab onto him, immediately halted by the chain holding his arms captive. He let out a sound of frustration as he fought against his shackles. It was the most erotic sight that Spock had ever had the privilege of seeing. 

“Spock! Come back here right now!”

Spock shook his head when Jim closed his hands around the shackles, pulling the chain and the heavy ring that held them. He didn’t see it coming, too distracted by the sudden tautness of Jim’s muscles, his arms, his torso, his abdominals, the rest disappearing tauntingly under the belt of his pants. He belatedly understood his captain's intention once his legs had raised suddenly off the ground to close around his waist. Jim trapped him in a vice before pulling him forward, closing in on the short amount of distance that Spock had managed to put between them. 

He held back a groan as he flattened his hands against the wall to keep his upper body from pressing against Jim’s once more. He tensed his fingers, his mouth too close to Jim’s smiling lips. They looked triumphant, as if they knew that just a hot breath threatened to shatter any semblance of control in him. 

“Captain.” His voice sounded low to his own ears, full of frustration and suppressed desire. “We are still in the native species’ captivity. Anyone could realize that our captors have not shown any signs of life for some time. We must escape before someone sounds an alarm.” 

The grip around his waist tightened. He felt Jim’s erection rub lewdly against the taut muscles of his stomach through the fabric of his pants. 

“All the more reason not to waste time on useless deliberations, Mr.Spock!”

He crushed his lips once more against the smug smile with a groan that was just as much in defeat as it was in liberation. 

**Stardate: 4105.45 (15/11/2266)**

McCoy knew how to be patient, contrary to the opinions received, and amply conveyed by, a certain captain with blue eyes too innocent for the common good. He was a doctor, dammit, and patience towards humanity and the rest of all known and unknown species was part of the job description! And he had been patient. Extremely patient. Patience incarnate. He had waited four days. Four whole rotations of watching the two worst idiots in the galaxy circle around each other at a careful distance, devouring each other with their gaze before looking away the moment the other gave the slightest inclination of the head towards their direction, letting out incredibly drawn out yet inaudible sighs and generally putting the crew of the best ship in Starfleet on edge, not knowing how to act with their highly-strung captain and his first who was even more quiet and unforthcoming than usual. 

Four days and a smattering of new white hairs later, he finally gave in. His baby of a best friend and his pointy-eared nemesis were even less capable of talking it out than he had imagined. And he had a wild imagination. It was extremely pessimistic as well. 

He had bought the bottle during their last shore leave. A Terran rum. 

“One and a half months of pay, Jim! I hope you appreciate my sharing it with you!”

Blue eyes caught his own, and McCoy saw that they didn’t hold the slightest ounce of gratitude. Jim raised his glass in a parody of a salute. Ingrate. He watched as his lips met the alcohol, then swallowed, before letting out a sound that went far past decency. Which for him was nothing surprising or remarkable. Jim had always been a particularly vocal person. McCoy had a feeling that it extended to other parts of his life as well, and he would rather be spared the details, thank you very much. But he was sitting across from him for a reason, so he got to the point. 

“Oh, will you save those God-awful noises for Spock!” He took great joy in Jim’s sudden inhale and the hoarse cough that followed. He took a sip of his drink, burning and spiced and perfect, as he watched his captain give his best imitation of a tuberculosis patient in the third stage. Or at least what looked like tuberculosis from what he knew from the pictures in the archives. 

“What do…” The anger in the eyes poised on him was dampened by the tears that were still running down his face. It made the sight a lot less intimidating. “What do you mean by that?” 

McCoy lazily spun the liquid in his glass, admiring its rich amber tones. 

“Don’t pretend to be more idiotic than you actually are, it would be an Olympic feat.” This conjured up a new dark gaze that he didn’t pay any attention to. “You know exactly what I mean.” 

He brought his lips to the glass once more. Watched as Jim took a swig that was much too large. What a waste. He should've brought out the rotgut from Aldebran IV instead. 

“It isn’t what you think.” He said in a low murmur, avoiding McCoy’s gaze. 

“Would you look at that!” 

He watched Jim square his jaw. He sighed in his glass and asked himself why he always had to get close to difficult people. Why he had to make friends, period. The life of a hermit always held a certain appeal to him in times like these. 

“Nothing’s going on between Spock and I. Just…” He set down his glass and gestured loosely in his direction. McCoy let out an audible sigh before filling it again. Jim’s fingers closed around the glass, but he settled for swirling it around instead. He watched the colors glisten in the soft light. “The porn Farr and the aphroray.” 

“ _Pon_ Farr!” He knew perfectly well that Jim was doing it on purpose, but the correction had burst out automatically, his mind occupied by an entirely different question. “The what?!” 

The smile that played on Jim’s lips resembled that of a boy who thought he had made a particularly clever joke. 

“The aphroray. The Aphrodisiac Ray from Sigma-I-don’t-know-how-many-anymore.” He heard the uppercase letters in the way that he said the first two words. Felt his nervousness in the way that he forced himself to take a small sip of alcohol. “I forgot the name the minute we got back to civilization.” 

He always hid behind his sarcasm. James Tiberius Kirk, galactic porcupine. He needed to get rid of him, too. He waited for him to set down his glass, for the safety of both of them. It would be a shame to lose more of this excellent alcohol in some act of exasperation. Or even by landing a slap behind his captain’s head. But he knew that he would break his wrist and all the fingers in that hand before even getting there. And what would become of the _Enterprise_ with its only sane crew member out of service? 

“Jim. We retrieved and analyzed one of their weapons. There’s absolutely nothing about them that would increase sexual drives. Nothing.”

Jim shook his head. Looked up at him with eyes that had to have been the result of illegal genetic experimentation. He took apart each syllable from the one word that passed through his lips.

“Aphroray.”

McCoy knew how to act patient. In certain circumstances. And Jim always had a talent for reminding him that patience wasn’t the most natural part of his personality. 

“Good Lord!” He placed his hands abruptly on the table. He savored the small jolt that the movement caused in his mule of a best friend before rising up from the table with his hands and leaning over to him. “Get your heads out of your asses, both of you!” A slow blink answered, followed by a quick flush of the cheeks and a small smile that revealed all too much. He let himself fall back into his chair with a groan. “I do _not_ want to know! My choice of words might not’ve been the most eloquent, I’ll give you that…” He pinched his fingers against the bridge of his nose. Concentrate. Don’t let him get you. “Admit that you two are head over heels for each other and that you keep looking for the slightest rotten excuse to screw before completely ignoring each other after!” 

“Bones!”

Jim’s shocked inhale was worth solid gold. It was payback for that smile. McCoy put the back of his hand against his forehead in imaginary pain. 

“Oh, Spock was gonna die, it was my duty to save him by getting the best dick in my life…” He slid his hand down so that his palm rested against his cheek. “An alien phaser shot me, it has to be an aphrodisiac, it’s the phaser’s fault if Spock and I screw in a prison from the stone age before even thinking of escaping!” 

“Bones! That’s enough!” Ha, he had managed to bring out Captain Kirk. Jim’s cheeks were still red though, and there was uncertainty in his stern gaze. 

“Admit it, Jim.” He winced at how soft his voice had become. He was going to lose his reputation if he acted like this too often. “Would it really be the end of the world?” 

Jim didn’t answer immediately. He took a sip from his glass, slower this time, thank God. He set it down between them. Stared at him with that face that was halfway between a lost boy and an adult who was too responsible for his own good. 

“You know very well that I can’t.”

McCoy filled his glass cautiously before pushing it towards him. 

“No, I don’t know. And I still don’t want to know, but I’m pretty sure that you’re going to tell me anyway…” 

Jim frowned lightly. 

“I’m the Captain. He’s my first.” As if that in itself was enough, as if it explained everything. 

“So?”

Jim looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a pair of antennas. McCoy savored a mouthful of rum in response, keeping an expression that was just as open as it was questioning. 

“It’s banned by the regs.” 

“Oh for heaven’s sake. Spock! Leave his body right now!” He winced, half-serious. “Sorry.” 

“Bones!” Jim looked desperate. It almost made him pity him. McCoy sighed loudly. 

“Strongly advised against, not banned. I know some of them forgot that bit when we were at the Academy and that you were pretty young then and easily influenced.” He smiled at the offended pout that Jim gave him, all the while enforcing his words with a pointed finger. “But Starfleet isn’t and never has been a military organization. Those types of rules don’t apply here.” 

The alcohol warmed his throat as he waited a few seconds for Jim to digest the information. 

“I know.” He let out an exasperated sigh and ran a nervous hand through his already disheveled hair. “I know that Starfleet isn’t the army! But it isn’t that easy…” He gestured at the small room. “The _Enterprise._ The crew. She’s my girl and they’re my family. My responsibility. Bones…” 

What a heroic idiot, always ready to sacrifice himself for others. 

“Well then, you’ll just have to make it a threesome.” He watched Jim choke on his drink. It was incredibly satisfying. “And share the responsibility.” 

***

Spock’s cabin had never seemed so far away. Nor so close. The ship lost its reassuring familiarity as each step took him closer to what he knew would be an end as well as a beginning. New starts had always been terrifying and thrilling to him. 

_You’re more dangerous to the crew, the ship, shit, the whole galaxy when you two run the risk of abandoning your mission to jump each other out of the blue!_

He hated his best friend. Seriously. 

_Get everything sorted out for good. And don’t look at me like a beaten puppy, it’s pathetic._

He stopped at a turn. If he continued on a bit more he would get to his own cabin. No harm done. What you aren’t sure of can’t throw you to the ground and beat you until you can’t get up. 

_Loser. You won’t amount to anything. You’re even worse than your mother._

He stopped suddenly and took a second to realize that the voice of his step-father was trying to stop him as it had done for years. He took two final steps before knocking on the closed door of the Vulcan’s quarters. 

At least ten excuses ran through his head to justify his presence - on top of the instinct to flee while there was still time, to the corner of the hall, his cabin, to safety - before the panel slid silently into the wall. A slightly raised eyebrow greeted him. Along with that immediately attentive look that belonged only to Spock. It was ruined by his too perfect posture, the one that he always used in situations where he was ill at ease. Jim hated seeing it used on him. Hated being the cause of that tension in his Vulcan. 

… His First. His friend. 

With benefits? _Shut up Bones._

“Captain?”

He shook his head and firmly planted his gaze on Spock.

“Spock, we need to talk”

 _Perfect. Suave, gentle, original. You really are a loser James T. Kirk._

Spock’s face closed up. Cold, distant and unreadable, even to Jim. 

“Unnecessary, Captain. I assure you that it will not happen again.” 

He almost turned around right then. He needed to salvage what was left of his pride. Needed to get rid of that thing in his chest that had no right to hurt this much, needed to go yell at Bones to get some of it out. 

_There’s nothing about them that would increase sexual drives. Nothing._

_Spock’s body pressing him against the stone. His hand around his burning member. His mouth branding his skin._

“Can I come in?” He licked his lips and didn’t fail to notice that the brown eyes had followed the movements of his tongue. “It won’t take long.” 

_It would be too bad… Bones!_

The Vulcan hesitated for a few seconds before moving away to open up the entrance of the cabin. He furrowed his brow when Jim pressed against him to get past the door, suppressing a shiver. 

“Have you been drinking, Captain?”

Well, there’s nothing like a Vulcan’s sense of smell. Or he might be swaying more than he thought. 

“I’m not on duty. And I’m not drunk if that’s what you want to know.” Just tipsy enough to have the guts to talk to you. Pathetic, I know. 

He took a deep breath before turning to Spock, who crossed his arms over his chest when the door closed behind him. Most people would find him intimidating. Jim saw the stance for what it was. Protection. 

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

His frown deepened. 

“For what, Captain?”

Always that word, that rank, that distance that he deliberately put between them. He frowned lightly and moved purposefully into the Vulcan’s personal space. 

“I didn’t offer to help you through Pon Farr out of just the goodness of my heart. Or out of a sense of duty.” Spock hadn’t moved. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes had widened imperceptibly. His pupils had suddenly widened in the warm brown of his irises. “And the Aphroray didn’t affect any of my actions.” 

Spock didn’t ask him what an aphroray was. He didn’t know if it was reassuring or proof that the Vulcan spent too much time in his company. 

“Captain?”

“Oh, can we just get on with it!”

***

Spock’s back hit the panel of the door before he could make any movement to defend himself. Jim’s hands pressed against his shoulders, bright eyes seeming to want to pierce through his mind. 

“I want you, Spock! In what way do I need to say it?”

It felt like all the oxygen suddenly left the room. That gravity was only an abstract and preconceived notion. Up and down were useless in the vastness of space, insignificant in the face of the deep blues he was sinking into. No, throwing himself into. With all his body and all his soul. He took a shaky breath. Felt thousands of little knots that he had never noticed before unwind. 

Jim’s eyes hadn’t moved, but Spock wasn’t fooled by his facade. He saw the uncertainty trembling beneath the surface. He wanted more than anything to reassure his captain, but couldn’t hold back from reacting with a raised eyebrow, fighting the smile that was attempting to shape his lips. 

“You could start with Vulcan.” He saw the shock first. Then anger fighting with joy and an endless relief that made him strangely hurt. He didn’t know that he had been making Jim suffer as much as he himself had been. There was still so much that he needed to learn about human emotions. He tilted his head forward, right up against his captain’s ear, to whisper in his native language, “I want you, Jim.” 

The translation was rough, the words strange to the Vulcan ideals of physical and romantic bonds, but the true meaning held little importance. The human shivered violently against him. He turned his head to put his own lips against Spock’s ear. His burning breath connected with his electric skin. 

“Prove it, Spock.” The distinctive intonations of Jim’s voice made his Vulcan strangely rhythmic, lilting, heady, entirely erotic. 

A groan escaped from Spock. Primal, possessive, full of desire. 

Words were no longer useful. His lips sealed against Jim’s. The whine that it brought out was the most beautiful answer. Spock’s body pressed harder against him. Sparks ignited within him when their erections touched. 

Their kiss lingered. Slow in a way that they had never been before. Jim’s hand stroked his arm before reaching for his hand and curling his fingers into it. A shiver ran through the places where their palms and fingers touched. That their minds joined as perfectly as their bodies did was comforting harmony, a flame that burned without ever consuming. Their lips separated in agreement, with the same will. Their tongues caressed before letting go as well. Jim rested his forehead against Spock’s. Slipped his other hand in his. 

Spock let out a soft exhale. 

“Jim.”

He had never thought that a connection could run so deep. He knew of the word for it. Had heard it, read it, numerous times, without understanding the meaning, the significance. He finally understood it the moment the Vulcan word passed through Jim’s lips. 

“T’hy’la.” There was wonder in the blue depths of the eyes that were once again diving into his. Surprise. Awe. A gentleness that ran through their joined minds like a caress. 

“T’hy’la.” He agreed with as much emotion as he could. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t afraid to feel. He understood. This human being was his just as he was Jim’s. 

He bent his head lightly to place his lips against Jim’s once more. He arched his back to ensure that no space was left between their bodies. They both let out a sigh. 

One. Always, forever, eternally. 

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I seriously have so much respect for all smut writers out there. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Original Notes: It's been a while since I've written anything other than Steve/Bucky and I had a lot of fun with these three. I pulled out some hair but definitely had fun.


End file.
